


Transformations

by kronette



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: Posing as newlyweds, Will and Hannibal infiltrate a corrupt police station in Cuernavaca, leaving it a bit bloodier than when they'd arrived. Or, the one where the local police messed with the wrong honey vendor - one of Hannibal's favorites.





	Transformations

Sweat trickled down Ted’s spine as he ran up to the police station, panicked thoughts of what might have happened to Javier in the hours he’d been held flooding his imagination. He burst through the front door, the room spinning as he transitioned from blinding sunlight to dim fluorescent bulbs. 

Breathing heavily, he wiped the curls off his forehead, fingers sliding in the sweat that had gathered there. The air was more oppressive inside the station, where fans moved the hot air around but offered no relief. Ted’s blue shirt clung to him in sweaty patches, the messenger bag strap across his chest feeling like a constrictive band as his gaze swept the room. 

Three policemen sat at three different desks, _Perez_ , _Campos_ , and the one directly in front of him, _Inspector Avilo_. Ted stumbled over to the inspector’s desk, still trying to catch his breath. “Please—por favor, you’ve arrested a man. Javier Guerrero,” he said. “I need to see him.” 

Dismay filled him as the inspector answered in Spanish, _Señor Guerrero_ and _no_ the only words he understood clearly, but their context was unfathomable. Panic started to creep along the edges of his consciousness, not knowing how to communicate that didn’t involve his poor Spanish. 

In a flash of inspiration, Ted pointed to the silver- and gold-twisted band on his left hand. “Javier is my husband. Husband?” The hope that flared for a brief moment fizzled out, unable to stay afloat with the impassive face of the inspector staring back at him. Frustrated, Ted tried to remember the word for ‘husband’. “Um, espouse? Married? Marido?” 

He shrank in on himself as Avilo turned away from him to speak with the two other policemen, gesturing lewdly amid raucous laughter. The conversation sounded ugly and cruel, words Ted was familiar with like _fucking_ and _faggot_ peppered throughout. Heat snaked its way up his neck to his cheeks, burning his skin and he ducked his head, trying to drown them out.

It wasn’t until he felt the heavy weight of eyes on him that Ted noticed he’d misbuttoned his shirt in his haste to dress when he’d heard about Javier’s arrest, only succeeding in closing two buttons but not in the proper holes. Feeling a rush of renewed embarrassment, he clutched the open ends of his collar against his throat and wrapped his other arm around his waist, fingers tangling in the loose fabric to ground him. 

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, not quite rocking as he began chewing on his thumbnail, wanting desperately to be anywhere else but unwilling to leave without seeing Javier. When the voices finally died away, leaving Ted feeling more exposed than when they were talking about him, he rasped, “I would like to see Javier Guerrero,” through his dry, tight throat.

“What is your name, señor?” 

Surprised at hearing English, Ted’s eyes flicked up to Avilo, who was gracing him with an overly generous smile that sent gooseflesh racing along his arms. He swallowed thickly, not removing his thumb from his lower lip as he murmured, “Ted Logan—Guerrero,” he amended clumsily, stumbling over his new surname. 

Avilo’s smile grew wider. “Señor Guerrero. It isn’t customary for a prisoner to have visitors.” 

He felt the hot rush of tears sting his eyes and took an involuntary step forward, letting his hand drop away from his mouth. “Please. We’ve only been married two weeks. I don’t know anyone here. I need him…need to see him,” he corrected, embarrassed at his admission. “I can’t…” he sucked his lower lip into his mouth and ducked his head again, loose curls falling over his forehead as he willed himself not to cry. 

He took deep, calming breaths as a chair scraped along the floor, then footsteps drew nearer. He startled as a hand settled on his shoulder and an overly sweet voice purred, “I said it wasn’t customary. I didn’t say it was impossible.” 

Trembling slightly, Ted looked up into eyes gone dark with desire and tried to take a step back, but the hand on his shoulder held him fast. “What are you doing?” he demanded weakly, jerking his shoulder back but Avilo’s grasp remained firm. “Let me go.” 

A deeper voice chimed in, “The law says Señor Guerrero needs to be held until his trial.” Ted’s gaze shifted behind Avilo to Perez, now standing next to Campos. Both had expressions of eager interest similar to Avilo’s, and true fear began to coil in Ted’s gut as Perez continued, “To our great shame, our justice system does not move swiftly. It could be days or even weeks until his trial is set, and that might be months away.”

Ted’s heart plummeted as the horrifying words rang in echoing circles inside his head. “I can’t be without him for _months_ ,” he wailed in dismay, stunned into immobility. His whole world was locked up twenty-seven feet from him, but it may as well have been miles as his brain stuttered over what he was going to do.

“Do not think we are without heart.” Avilo’s tone was coaxing with an undercurrent of steel as he suggested, “There are arrangements that can be made, for the right price.” 

“Arrangements? Price?” Ted queried absently, a soft buzzing filling his head as all the color bled out of the room around him. He barely felt Avilo’s hand squeeze his shoulder, but it was as hot as a brand where it trailed possessively down his back to slide over the curve of his ass.

Everything slammed sharply back into focus, Avilo’s meaning and intent instantly recognized. Nausea roiling through him, Ted hissed, “ _No_ ,” but was stopped from pulling away by Avilo’s hand gripping his hip, holding him in place. 

Ted turned his face away as Avilo leaned toward him, flinching at the gust of hot, stale breath against his cheek. The words were whisper-soft, but they lanced through Ted like a sharp knife slicing into his gut: “Do you want your husband to think you don’t love him? That you didn’t care enough to fight to see him?” 

Tears filled his eyes as he imagined Javier lying alone on a small cot, thinking he had been abandoned. Ted wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Javier thought for one moment that he didn’t love him. But to do _that_ …he shook his head violently, curls bouncing against his cheeks. “Please don’t ask that of me,” he begged hoarsely, focusing his gaze on the door to the cells behind Avilo’s shoulder. “I’ll get you money,” he offered instead. “I’ve got some with me and I can get more. Lots more.” 

Avilo leaned back in, his lips brushing against Ted’s ear as he murmured, “That would make it a bribe. I would be arrested for that. This,” knuckles trailed lightly over Ted’s cheek, “is merely a favor in return for a favor.”

Ted’s chest constricted as his heart was gripped in a cold embrace, realizing that he was trapped, not just by Avilo’s body, but by his love for Javier. His breathing grew shallow, tendrils of panic whiting out the edges of his vision. “I wouldn’t tell a soul; I _promise_. I don’t _know_ anyone here,” he asserted desperately, forcing his eyes up but unable to meet Avilo’s, instead fixating on the lips that smiled at his humiliation. “I’ll get as much money as you want. Javier collects art. I’ll sell whatever I have to.”

His stomach clenched with dizzying nausea as Avilo’s lips ghosted across his cheek before murmuring knowingly in his ear, “Oh, I know you will.” 

The hand that had caressed his cheek gently cupped the side of his neck, thumb rubbing over his smooth jawline. Ted couldn’t reconcile the almost reverent touch with the abhorrent words; that he could be forced into such turmoil only because he wanted to see Javier…

The hands slid off of his skin, causing a ripple of disgust and relief to course through him. 

Avilo’s smile was as cold as his words as he reiterated, “But as I told you, I cannot take your money. There is only one favor that I ask, and it is up to you to decide if you will offer it. I must warn you, however, that if you refuse, your husband will never be told that you tried to see him. He will lie awake every night in the weeks or months he’s here, wondering if you ever loved him.” 

Horror and shame struck deep, the sickening lurch in Ted’s stomach only overcome by the deep ache in his heart. He had no choice; there was never any choice to make. He would endure anything for Javier, even this. Gathering the slim threads of his courage, he met Avilo’s eager stare, hardly recognizing his own voice as he demanded, “I want an hour alone with Javier in his cell before I…” his resolve faltered and he had to choke out the last of his demand, “…I return the favor.” 

He counted his loud, erratic breaths before Avilo’s smile softened, but it didn’t lose its predatory edge. “I will grant you a half an hour, no more. If you give any hint to Señor Guerrero of our arrangement, it will go very badly for your husband during his stay with us.” 

Avilo seemed to be waiting for something, so Ted nodded stiffly, repulsed at the implication that they could do anything to Javier and he would never know. He trailed meekly behind Avilo through the door to the cells, all of his horrors forgotten as soon as he heard the surprised cry, “Teddy!” 

“ _Javier_ ,” he expelled on an unsteady breath, rushing over to the only occupied cell, trying to take in everything in one glance. Torn and bloodied shirt, a cut along a sharp cheekbone, streaked with dirt and blood and possibly the most beautiful thing Ted had ever seen. 

Ted broke into a tremulous smile as Javier’s hand cupped his face, drawing him in to press their foreheads together against the bars. Their first kiss was awkward, faces pressed tight between the bars limiting their movements. The physical pain was miniscule next to the desperation that bubbled underneath Ted’s skin, but he met Javier’s kiss with a tender press of his lips. 

“Teddy?” Javier questioned as Avilo opened the cell door just enough for Ted to slip inside. 

Shaking his head, Ted flung himself into Javier’s arms, kissing him properly. Distantly, Ted heard Avilo’s warning of _thirty minutes_ and the sound of the door closing, but he was immersed in the familiar scent, touch, _taste_ of his lover, tightening his hold on Javier’s shoulders when Javier tried to pull back.

Finally satisfied that enough time had elapsed, Ted relinquished his strong grip, slowly stroking his hands down Javier’s arms to intertwine their fingers. He rested their foreheads together in forced intimacy, gradually lessening his hold on the weak and desperate Ted, letting control and power fill him once again. Will let out his tension in a long exhale, shedding the last traces of the personality he’d adopted. Sinking into the mind of a killer—or anyone else—was easier than creating a composite of victims and incorporating their weakest aspects into a persona. 

In the weeks leading up to their sting operation, Will had practiced being Ted, but if he maintained his sense of self, Hannibal easily spotted it for the ruse it was. After days of struggling, Will determined that he would have to _become_ Ted Logan, newly married to Javier Guerrero, in order to pass undetected. 

It had been worth it: Will had so successfully sold Ted to Avilo, that Avilo had never questioned Ted’s sincerity or believability. Avilo hadn’t even noticed the messenger bag slung over Will’s shoulder or seemed to care about the contents. That was his second fatal flaw. The bag had a false back that contained not only lock picking tools, but items necessary for their final day in Cuernavaca. If the bag had been taken from him before entering the cell, Will had backup tools in his shoe, though it would have been harder to get them to Hannibal. 

Avilo’s first mistake, made six months ago, was in targeting a vendor that Hannibal frequented when they visited Cuernavaca. With his favorite local honey provider missing, Hannibal had subtly questioned the other vendors in the plaza. Discovering that the vendor’s wife had been arrested on false charges and the vendor threatened by Avilo and his men, Will had employed all his investigative skills to uncover six more victims in the past year. Whether extorted into blackmail or prostitution, Avilo, Perez and Campos had profited handsomely off their victims’ fear. 

Avilo’s next targets, Javier and Ted Guerrero, had arrived two weeks ago, flaunting Javier’s wealth and Ted’s naiveté, making sure to draw the attention of the local police. It was then merely a matter of Javier being separated from Ted at an opportune time and their plan was set in motion. Will was looking forward to permanently wiping the smug smile off Avilo’s face, though the physical cost of transforming himself into Ted, even if he hadn’t been consciously aware of it, left him taut as a bow string and jittery with adrenaline. 

“Are you all right?” Hannibal asked, keeping his voice low as he squeezed their joined hands, thumb stroking along Will’s skin, drawing him away from his racing thoughts. 

Mindful of the camera over his shoulder in the corner of the room, Will shook his head in short, jerking movements as if Ted were overcome with emotion. Taking up just enough of Ted’s helplessness to be convincing, Will slid his head down to bury his face in the crook of Hannibal’s neck, ignoring the dried blood for the time being. Up close, Hannibal’s scent was overpowering, having been kept in the singular windowed room for almost six hours with only a fan poorly circulating the air. Will was equally as pungent, having driven to the police station with the windows up and a/c off to simulate running all the way from the house they were renting. He pressed his nose against Hannibal’s skin, comfort and arousal triggered at the scent-memory. Hannibal was in a similar state, nose buried in Will’s hair, a faint hum of appreciation under his breath.

Savoring the low thrum of anticipation beneath his skin, Will answered in Ted’s weak voice, “I should be asking you that.” He pulled back enough to stroke a thumb over a line of dried blood that led up to the cut on Hannibal’s cheekbone. He rested his palm against Hannibal’s stubbled cheek, letting his gaze drift down the ruined shirt, picking out distinctive patterns of partial boot prints. 

His lips twisted in a snarl of anger as his hands began tracing over Hannibal’s body, fingers pressing discreetly along ribs and kidneys, checking for signs of damage. “Anything broken?” he murmured against Hannibal’s lips before sliding his hand into the sweaty, limp hair. 

“Only bruised,” Hannibal whispered back as he tugged gently at Will’s hair, keeping one hand curled protectively around Will’s waist. “What did you promise him?”

“Anything,” Will answered breathlessly, opening to Hannibal’s insistent mouth. Anticipation tasted like a rich red wine on Hannibal’s tongue and Will swallowed it greedily, letting it strengthen his own. He chased Hannibal’s mouth as it pulled away, continuing to suck lightly at Hannibal’s chin and jaw. 

Hannibal’s voice was low and husky, his eyes glittering as he asked, “What will you take?” 

“ _Everything_ ,” Will promised quietly, darkly. The desire to see blood splashing in a wide arc from a severed artery and willingness to savor the desperate pleas to spare such worthless lives must have shown on his face, as Hannibal’s eyes reflected his promise of vengeance.

Before that could happen, Will needed to bait one last hook for Avilo and his accomplices. Avilo would get suspicious if all Ted and Javier did was kiss after the insistence Will had shown in the squad room. _Performing_ for an audience was distasteful to him, moreso to Hannibal’s sense of propriety, but Will had insisted it was necessary to get a full confession from their targets. He needed that assurance of guilt to counter his growing…satisfaction…in taking a life. 

It also served a practical purpose: to get the lock picking tools out of the messenger bag undetected. They would need to distract the eyes watching them and what better way to draw the attention of voyeurs than the naïve Ted showcasing just how much he loved Javier. 

He squeezed Hannibal’s hand, indicating that it was time to move to the next phase of the plan. Angling his head up, Will breathed, “Soon,” against Hannibal’s lips, drawing them both back to Javier and Ted Guerrero, newlyweds forced into an impossible situation. 

Pulling away, Will let Ted’s confusion and worry color his voice. “Why are you hurt?” he asked as he searched Hannibal’s face, smoothing his thumb over the bruised cheekbone again. “Did you get in a fight? Is that why you were arrested?” 

“It’s nothing,” Hannibal assured him with a kiss to his forehead. “A misunderstanding. This will all be cleared up in a few days.” 

“But who hurt you?” he pressed, knowing it was a dangerous question with Avilo listening, but it was a valid concern for Ted. “You were only going into town to get us something for dinner and then Rafe found me to tell me you’d been arrested. Did something happen at the market? Did you—” Will sighed into the press of lips at the corner of his mouth, that trailed down his jaw until they reached his ear, letting himself be distracted from his line of questioning. 

Hannibal’s voice was a low rumble as he explained, “It was part of the misunderstanding. I promise you, I will be back home in a few days.” 

Will’s horrified, relieved bark of laughter reflected Ted’s guilt and shame at what had been promised to Avilo. Sinking back into Ted’s headspace, he pulled away and shook his head, feeling tears slide down his cheeks. 

When the tears refused to stop, Hannibal pulled him to his chest and ran comforting fingers through his hair, asking quietly, “What’s wrong, Teddy?”

Will shook his head again, pressing his lips together as he clutched at Hannibal’s shoulders. Ted’s promise would be a curse now, torn between believing his husband or the police who had blackmailed him with threats. But the inevitable _payment_ would happen, regardless of which scenario was true. What was important was Avilo seeing that Ted would keep his promise not to tell Javier about the sexual blackmail.

Will pulled back from Hannibal’s secure embrace and attempted a smile, but he could feel it failing before it had even gotten started. “Nothing,” he dismissed, curving his hand around the back of Hannibal’s neck and stroking his fingers along the sensitive nape. “I’m just worried you’ll be lonely without me sleeping beside you.” 

“No, _my beloved_ , it is I who worry about you all alone.” Hannibal’s expression was solemn, his eyes dark with regret. “I brought you to my country, took you away from everything and everyone you knew…”

“ _No_ ,” Will snapped; Ted would be unable to stomach any words of comfort. “I married you because I wanted to be with you.” He took Hannibal’s face in his hands and kissed him roughly. “I care about _you_.” His next kiss was just as demanding, tongue sweeping between parted lips and teeth leaving stinging marks in their wake. 

Will’s movements shifted to pure seduction at his breathless declaration, “It’s only ever been you.” Languid strokes of his tongue, body shifting provocatively beneath Hannibal’s hands, fingers ghosting over the most sensitive patches of skin until Hannibal’s hands tightened helplessly around him and a strangled moan reverberated against his lips. 

Will gave himself over to the ravenous mouth claiming his, pressing back into the possessive hands clutching at his hips and ass, a whine of need catching in his throat as he felt Hannibal’s hardness against his own. 

He turned when Hannibal guided him, not breaking the kiss as Hannibal sank down to sit on the cot, steadying Will as he rested first one knee, then the other, on either side of Hannibal’s thighs. Will stayed kneeling above Hannibal, one hand at his jaw, the other at Hannibal’s shoulder, easing him back until Hannibal was against the wall, all the while offering encouraging moans as they devoured one another.

Will slid his hand down Hannibal’s left arm, drawing Hannibal’s hand to his waist, near the loose thread on the messenger bag that would open the false back. Will’s body obscured Hannibal’s actions from the camera, who appeared to be merely holding onto Will’s waist. 

Hannibal made a low sound of frustration; he clearly wasn’t able to get the thread loose. Will answered with a flick of his tongue along Hannibal’s lower lip before he broke the kiss, dragging the bag over his head and tossing it carefully beside them, flap side down and as near to Hannibal’s left hip as he could get. He made sure that the strap caught on his shirt, pulling at the uneven buttoning and drawing Hannibal’s feral gaze—and all others—to his chest. 

“Is this for me?” Hannibal’s growl was not quite a tease as he slid his hand inside Will’s misbuttoned shirt. 

Will’s breathing was growing labored, desire snaking its way through his veins even as he tried to stave it off, an unfortunate distraction from the real purpose of his seduction. He could feel the blush heating his skin, helpless noises being torn from him as Hannibal’s hand stroked along his collarbone, pushing the shirt off his shoulder to expose most of his chest. “I was swimming when I got word that you’d been arrested,” he explained with a tremor in his voice, the deepening of his arousal at Hannibal’s touch a sweet ache. “I wasn’t paying attention to what I threw on, or how.” He shifted closer, letting his shirt catch in his elbows as he reached for Hannibal’s pants. “My only concern was getting to you.” 

There was color high on Hannibal’s cheeks as Will’s hand slipped inside to wrap around Hannibal’s half-hard cock. Before Will could give it more than a light squeeze, Hannibal gripped his wrist and removed his hand, holding it unsteadily between them. 

Where Hannibal might have sounded scandalized, Will only heard thick desire. “Teddy, we can’t. Not here.” 

“I’d rather you make love to me,” Will stated conversationally, though the heated flare of embarrassment on his neck and chest belied his calmness at the situation, but lent an air of authenticity to Ted’s predicament. “I want to taste you, Javier. I _need_ to. Give me this, please.” 

They studied each other, breathing ragged, half-hard and Will half-undressed, in the stifling, silent cell, waiting for the other to break. Will felt icy trails shivering down his spine; Ted’s courage would be rapidly fading. The thought of a cold, lonely bed for both Ted and Javier had him leaning forward, just touching his lips to Hannibal’s, and breathing, “I need you.” 

The moan that vibrated against his mouth was one of defeat and passion before the same was poured into him, his lips crushed beneath the force of Hannibal’s kiss. Will’s left hand fell to Hannibal’s shoulder while Hannibal’s right slid around his waist, their other hands working the bag open and sliding the little case of tools into the folds of the sheets. 

That necessity taken care of, Will resigned himself to completing the act he’d started, though if he were honest with himself, it wouldn’t have mattered if Avilo and his men were in the room with them. He was burning, aching in the way that only Hannibal’s touch evoked in him, and he slid his foot to the floor, balancing himself carefully as he lowered himself to kneel between Hannibal’s legs. Looking up, he licked his lips eagerly, mouth curved in a satisfied smile as Hannibal grasped a handful of his hair and pressed him face-first into the heat and musk in the cradle of Hannibal’s thighs. 

Breathing deeply, Will mouthed along the silk-covered outline of Hannibal’s cock. He teased his fingers beneath the waistband, wrapping them firmly around Hannibal’s shaft and immediately closed his mouth around the head, sucking it deep. His eyes closed as the familiar taste burst over his tongue, the salty sweat quickly replaced by his spit as he sucked and licked Hannibal’s cock to full hardness. 

He was aware of the passage of time; that Avilo would be back soon to hold him to Ted’s promise, but there was a part of him that wanted Avilo to have to physically separate them. To attempt to drag Will away from Hannibal and them both to turn and attack Avilo, as they had the Red Dragon; as they had Arlo Tsai not a year ago. Together, in perfect symmetry, knowing where and how the other would attack without the need for words. 

Will pulled off with a choked gasp, not realizing how deeply he’d swallowed Hannibal’s cock in his remembrances. He rested his temple against Hannibal’s thigh, his hand continuing to squeeze and stroke Hannibal’s cock as he deepened his breathing to fill his lungs.

He angled his head up to see Hannibal’s face and what breath he had managed to regain stilled in his chest at Hannibal’s expression. Such devotion shone down on him, such adoration in the tear-filled eyes, the parted lips, the hand that shakily stroked his hair. Hannibal was slumped awkwardly against the wall, back bowed at an unnatural angle, but Will could tell the strained muscles in his neck weren’t from pain, but from holding himself back. 

Renewed energy surged through Will and he leaned back in, keeping his eyes locked on Hannibal’s as he delicately licked the swollen head. A ripple of pleasure shook Hannibal’s body and Will licked again, placing his hands on Hannibal’s knees to steady them both. His voice was wrecked as he taunted, “I know you’re ready.” He laid the flat of his tongue on the underside of Hannibal’s cock and licked a slow path up to the tip, the resulting moan music to his ears. “Why are you holding back?” He lifted the edge of Hannibal’s shirt and bit at the exposed skin, letting his cheek and hair rub against the engorged shaft. The soft whine at the back of Hannibal’s throat nearly undid him and he had to squeeze his own balls in a too-tight grip to keep from coming. 

Dizzily, he panted, “Don’t—don’t you like my mouth? Would you rather come on my chest?” Will leaned down and rubbed his mouth over the leaking head, smearing pre-come across his lips as he murmured, “Or buried so deep inside me that I can’t tell where you begin and I end.”

Will sealed his mouth over the swollen head as Hannibal’s restraint broke, swallowing what he could and suckling until the soft groans turned into short gasps bordering on pain. With one long, last pull, Will sat back and wiped his mouth with his thumb, chasing the taste of his labors around his mouth with his tongue. 

His eyes flicked up at the broken moan, his thumb frozen between his teeth at the shattered look in Hannibal’s eyes. As Will watched, that look turned feral, a possessive glint the only warning before Hannibal grabbed his arms and hauled him across his body, savagely attacking Will’s mouth with teeth and lips. 

Will shamelessly rubbed himself against Hannibal’s abdomen, grasping Hannibal’s shirt in both hands for leverage. A high-pitched whine was wrung from him as Hannibal’s hand worked at his button and fly, cupping his straining erection in a firm hand. Will was immediately, blindingly at the edge, breaking the kiss with a gasp and pleading with his eyes for relief. 

A warning darkened Hannibal’s eyes—they didn’t have the luxury of cleaning up with hot towels or tissues. Breathing unsteadily, Will rose up on his knees, bracing his hands against the wall above Hannibal’s head. An animalistic sound tore itself from Will’s throat as Hannibal’s mouth slowly closed over the head, hands gripping his ass holding Will steady as quick suction and a flicking tongue sent Will’s orgasm rushing through him. 

Collapsing against the warm wall, Will felt Hannibal’s arms holding him up, hot breath against his abdomen as Hannibal nuzzled along the scar he’d given Will years ago. Will was lost to the white noise in his head, not realizing that Hannibal had caught him as he sank down and had wrapped arms around him protectively. 

“We only have a few moments,” was murmured into his hair, and Will’s pleasant, lethargic afterglow vanished immediately. 

Will slowly leaned back, dragging his mouth across Hannibal’s with a resigned sigh. He tucked Hannibal back into his underwear, carefully doing up the fly and smoothing his hand along the creases at the front of Hannibal’s trousers. 

Will shuddered as Hannibal did the same for him, watching Hannibal’s face intently as his shirt was rebuttoned correctly, each brush of knuckle against his chest tightening something inside him. The top button was left undone, though Hannibal settled the shirt properly on his shoulders before giving him a quick kiss. “You will be okay until I’m back home,” was more an order than statement. Will pressed his lips together and nodded once, forcing his mind and emotions back to Ted and the bargain that was made. 

Will’s muscles were warm and loose, which would benefit him when he had to confront the three men in the squad room. It wouldn’t take Hannibal long to pick the lock on the jail cell, and though Will could hold Avilo off on doing anything to him until then, nothing was left to chance. He and Hannibal had thought of every possibility, and when they’d located and paid off the brothel where Tina Lopez of Austin, Texas had been held for eleven months, they’d gotten intimate details of how the blackmail worked. 

Will heard the door open and began to pull the veneer of Ted back over his skin, cupping Hannibal’s face and kissing him deeply, desperately, as if it would be the last time. The creak of the cell door opening had him pulling back enough to murmur, “Never forget that I love you,” against Hannibal’s lips before diving back in, not relenting until a hand clamped around his upper arm. 

Will allowed himself to be pulled away from Hannibal, stumbling clumsily against Avilo as he tried to twist and turn to keep Hannibal in his sights. The second Will was outside the cell, he reached through the bars and tangled his fingers with Hannibal’s. His throat was tight and Hannibal was blurry as he blinked away tears. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Hannibal promised, though it sounded flat and distant to Will. 

Will walked a few steps back into the squad room but Campos and Perez blocked him from moving further into the room. He tried to step to the side, but Avilo closed the door behind him and crowded against his back, hands resting on his shoulders—lightly, for now. Will’s breathing grew louder as he let a touch of the panic Ted would be feeling inhabit him; the knowledge that it was time to settle Ted’s debt now all too real. 

When the hands on his shoulders tightened, Will let out a surprised gasp and trembled as Avilo pressed against his back. The words were menacingly soft, intended to slide beneath his skin and burrow into his heart: “Have you thought of what happens to you if he goes to prison?” 

Will hesitated a few seconds, then obliged with a pitiful, weak, “No,” as if he’d only been focused on the time he’d had with Javier, but nothing beyond that moment. He felt himself being turned, though he kept his head down to watch for shadows moving on the floor. The other two cops hadn’t made a move toward him yet, but Will would be ready when they did.

Avilo’s tone continued to be gentle as he ripped Ted’s world apart. “You will be abandoned, left to your own devices. How will you support yourself? You don’t even speak our language. How will you survive without your loving husband at your side?” 

“I—I don’t…” he stuttered, his eyes filling with tears. Ted would be at a loss: doted on by Javier, encouraged to spend lavishly without ever doing a thing for himself, Ted was easy prey for a man like Avilo. Will let the tears spill over as his face was tenderly cupped in sweaty hands, sending his senses spinning out of control. 

Avilo’s gentleness shifted to sinister undertones as the inspector hissed, “A beauty such as you could find good work if he had the right connections.”

Lashes stuck together with tears, Will’s eyes slipped closed as lips brushed against his, then pressed harder. With a last, desperate whimper, Will forced himself to relax into the kiss, parting his trembling lips on command.

“Those will feel nice around my cock,” the inspector murmured against Will’s lips and Will reacted violently, shoving at Avilo only to have his arms captured by the other two cops. 

Will wouldn’t allow them to force him to his knees; the position hampered his ability to fight back. He needed to manipulate Avilo into wanting to fuck him and with the man’s ego, it shouldn’t take much. He let his teeth show, Ted now merely a thin veil as Will spat back, “Guess you don’t mind sloppy seconds.”

Will was braced for the backhand, but his head still snapped to the side. He shook it as if his head were ringing, tightening his fists to test the strength of the hands holding him. Campos, at his left, had the weaker grip. 

A hand grabbed Will’s jaw and his gaze flew up, barely restraining his fury at the rough handling. Avilo’s eyes were flashing with anger and arousal; a sickening combination that allowed Will to sink into the twisted mind; to see the world as Avilo saw it. 

It wasn’t exactly surprising, with all the research he and Hannibal had done on the missing young men and women who mysteriously ended up at one of the _specialized_ sex houses in town. Everyone had a price and if they refused to pay it, they deserved what they got. Will was going to be very, very satisfied when Avilo got what he deserved. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” Will begged, choking on pained sounds as Avilo dug fingers into his jaw. Will’s head was pushed back, neck straining as he was driven up on his toes. He was abruptly released and he sagged between the two men holding him, shifting his feet to better balance himself. 

Head down, Will felt for the change in the air; the moment when Avilo was distracted by visions of fucking a crying Ted being held down over one of the desks. The grip on Will’s left arm loosened as Campos turned his attention to Avilo and Will struck. 

Bracing himself on one foot, Will yanked his arm from Campos’ grasp, immediately slamming it back up into Campos’ nose. Ignoring the scream of pain and rage, Will twisted around, knuckle-punching Perez in the throat, crushing his trachea and halting any screams from that quarter.

When Will turned to look at Avilo, he chuckled at the gun wavering at him. Avilo’s eyes were comically wide, his expression one of disbelief. Will let the last traces of Ted slough off, his rage and passion filling him with purpose. In perfect Spanish, he mused, “ _You’re wondering where I learned to do that_.” A knowing, confident smile curved his lips as Hannibal slipped through the door and eased behind Avilo. “ _We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Will Graham, former FBI profiler and former Baltimore cop_.”

Campos moved in his peripheral vision. Without turning his body, Will clamped a hand around Campos’ throat and slammed the side of his head onto the desktop, letting Campos slip to the floor in a daze. Still breathing calmly, Will continued conversationally in English, “I’ll understand if you haven’t heard of me, but I know you’ve heard of my companion, Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Or perhaps you know him by the rather droll moniker that Dr. Chilton copyrighted: Hannibal the Cannibal?” Will smirked at seeing Avilo’s face pale and the gun shake more violently. “Let me introduce you.” 

Avilo was only able to open his mouth before Hannibal’s arms wrapped around his chest and neck, breaking his spine as easily as he had Mason Verger’s all those years ago. Hannibal let the man slump to the floor, sprawled helpless at their feet. 

Hannibal stepped around the meat, intent on Will, but swerved at the last minute to take out Perez with a sweep of his legs, sending the overweight man crashing to the floor. 

“Nice move,” Will remarked, smoothing a hand over Hannibal’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. “Clock’s ticking.” 

Moving as one entity sharing a mind, he and Hannibal went to their agreed upon duties. Hannibal locked the main door and pulled the shade while Will checked that the camera in the cells was deactivated. It took longer than Will anticipated to remove the hard drive from Perez’s computer and he tossed it onto the chair with a huff of disgust. He and Hannibal had discovered the remote DVR days ago and dismantled it, ensuring that the last backup of any incriminating evidence was in their possession. Hannibal found the arrest report for Javier Guerrero and placed it on top of the hard drive. 

While Will had struggled with the computer, Hannibal had pulled Avilo and Campos into the back room. Together, they dragged Perez into the back room and laid them all side by side. Will accepted the zip ties that Hannibal handed him from the messenger bag and bound Perez’s hands and feet, nodding his approval at the already bound and gagged Avilo and Campos. 

Hannibal retrieved nitrile gloves from the false back of the bag, pulling his on first before passing a pair to Will. Once Will had his gloves secured, the boning knife was presented handle-first to him, along with a soft kiss. “Have you decided on the presentation?” Hannibal asked him. 

Will knelt by Avilo, staring down into his terror-filled eyes, ignoring the muffled pleas for his life through the gag. He’d had a few ideas before coming face to face with Avilo, but now his design was clear. “Perez is Mizaru. Campos is Kikazaru. This one,” Will ran the tip of the knife along Avilo’s throat, “is Iwazaru, though I wish we could add ‘touch,” he lamented. 

“I will erase every last trace of his vileness from your skin,” Hannibal promised him, arousal thickening his accent. 

“I know you will,” he answered, tilting his head thoughtfully. “This is going to be difficult with the gag in his mouth.” 

Sounds of a struggle drew his attention; Hannibal was plucking the eyes from Perez, gurgling sounds replacing the horrified screams that should be echoing in the still room. 

Dispassionately, Will turned back to Avilo and slammed his knuckles into Avilo’s throat, quickly removing the gag. Forcing Avilo’s mouth wide open, he grabbed for the tongue and pulled it out as far as he could, sliding the boning knife beneath it to sever the muscle. He grimaced as Avilo began choking on blood, spittle and large droplets falling onto Will’s wrists and forearms. 

Annoyed, he shoved the tongue into a plastic zippered bag and sealed it, placing it on the floor. The cooler full of ice was waiting in the car, but the meat would be fine until then. Will straddled Avilo’s chest, patiently waiting for Hannibal to finish slicing the other ear from Campos. 

Hannibal dropped the ear next to the other one in a plastic bag, then sealed it shut. “Did you need help with something?” Hannibal asked. 

“He kissed me,” was all he needed to say. Without a word, Hannibal knelt in front of Will and held Avilo’s head steady as blood pooled beneath the body. Carefully, Will settled the knife at the edge of Avilo’s upper lip and wiggled it until he was happy with the depth, then cut along the seam. Ignoring the gurgling screams, he pulled the lower lip up and repeated the cut, placing both lips into another plastic bag. 

Avilo was still aware if almost unconscious, so Will leaned down to his ear and said in eloquent Spanish, “ _My lover is going to poach your lips in butter and white wine, served over sweet potato puree. He’s only teased me about what he’ll do with your tongue, but I’ve had tongue prepared by him before and it’s magnificent_.” 

The quirk of Hannibal’s mouth let Will know that he had, indeed, thought of how to prepare Avilo’s tongue, and probably every other body part he possessed as Hannibal had been abused by the trio as well. 

Hannibal’s presence began to fade as Will felt the dull heartbeat beneath his thigh, Avilo’s blood moving more sluggishly down his neck. Will shifted off of Avilo to rest his hand over the chest, counting the heartbeats until it stilled, watching the life leave Avilo’s eyes. 

With a quiet sigh, Will removed the box of needles and surgical thread from the bag. He quickly cut the ties around Avilo’s hands and feet and arranged the hands over the slack mouth. Holding them in place, Will began to sew, drawing the large, curved needle through hands and cheeks, securing his design. It took longer than he anticipated as Avilo’s skin was slick with blood, but finally when he carefully tugged at Avilo’s hands, they stayed where Will wanted them. 

Satisfied with his creation, he turned to see Hannibal finishing up with Perez, tying off the thread and biting it cleanly with his teeth. “We have knives for that,” Will remarked dryly, turning his attention to the barely breathing Campos. 

Hannibal grinned at him, then joined him on the other side of Campos. Together, they secured Campos’ hands over the exposed auditory holes, completing their design. Cutting off the last of the ties around the feet, Will cleaned up their tools and plastic bags and returned everything to the messenger bag. He stripped off his gloves and added them to a final plastic bag, Hannibal’s joining them a second later. 

Will stood back to admire their work, the simplicity of the design speaking volumes more than what was on the surface. The white rose petals that Hannibal was shaking over the bodies would implicate a rival cartel for the murders, hopefully creating enough chaos between the cartels that no further investigation into Avilo’s proclivities would be warranted. It was obfuscation on top of protection, giving him and Hannibal enough time to get out of Mexico altogether. 

A heavy gaze drew his attention; Hannibal was staring at him rather than their design and Will knew what Hannibal was waiting for. “You know it is,” he answered quietly, meeting Hannibal’s gaze and sliding his hand down Hannibal’s chest to rest over his heart. 

Hannibal captured his hand and brought it to his lips, licking at the drops of blood on his wrists. “We need to clean up before we go outside.” 

They took turns at the sink in the officer’s bathroom, washing off the obvious blood but unable to do anything with the stains on their cuffs and shirts. With a grin, Will stripped off his shirt and stuffed it in the bag, wagging his eyebrows at Hannibal in a dare to do the same. 

With a grimace, Hannibal shed his ruined shirt and handed it to Will. “It’s only three blocks to the car,” Will assured him, not even trying to hide his delight. It wasn’t often he got to see Hannibal flustered, and despite his best attempt at maintaining his dignity, Will could tell Hannibal was discomforted at being so exposed. 

Relenting, Will pressed a chaste, heartfelt kiss to Hannibal’s lips. “You don’t have to worry; all eyes will be on me,” he noted, knowing that it would distract Hannibal out of his headspace. He licked his lips as Hannibal’s eyes narrowed dangerously at the thought of him being ogled like a piece of meat—as Avilo had done—and felt anticipation coil low in his gut at Hannibal’s possessive gaze. 

Allowing his own predatory smile to curve his lips, Will turned and walked into the squad room, sliding the arrest report and hard drive into the bag. Giving one last sweep to the room, he didn’t notice anything out of place and couldn’t recall touching anything to leave his fingerprints behind. He was unconcerned about the cell; too many lives had lived there for any single print to be recognizable. 

He rolled up the shade and unlocked the door, holding it open for Hannibal as he shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight. He turned quickly down the street toward the car, Hannibal at his heels, keeping his head down to draw as little attention as possible. He fished the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car, putting the bag in the back as Hannibal slid into the passenger seat beside him. 

He drove until they were outside the city proper and traffic became more sparse. He pulled off onto a side road and put the car in park, not looking at Hannibal as he prepared himself for their last act in Cuernavaca. Of everything he had done, this would be the hardest, as he’d grown unexpectedly attached to his longer hair. 

Taking a deep breath, Will exited the car and reached into the back seat for the duffel bag that contained clothes, eyeglasses, hair clippers and the electric razor. 

Hannibal busied himself with the meat, arranging and rearranging the plastic bags for the best fit in the cooler. 

Will changed clothes quickly, casual trousers and shirt making him look more like a businessman than a boy toy. “Hannibal,” Will called him softly when Hannibal continued to fuss with items in the trunk, clearly stalling for time. 

When Hannibal glanced at him, Will held out his hand and Hannibal had no choice but to take it, clasping their hands tightly together. “It’ll grow it out again in a few months,” he promised, prizing open their hands and placing the clippers in Hannibal’s palm. “I don’t want it uneven,” he coaxed, knowing Hannibal’s vanity would accept nothing less than a perfect haircut, even if he despised the cut itself. 

They stared at each other, Will gasping as Hannibal’s free hand closed around the back of his head, fingers moving through his curls. He let his moan echo in the air between them, the tug against his scalp painful and exciting and possessive, but that wasn’t the reason tears sprang to his eyes. He would _miss_ this claiming, even if it was only until his hair grew long enough for Hannibal to wrap his fingers around again. 

Deep down, he knew it wasn’t his hair that was an issue, but what it stood for. They were leaving behind Ted and Javier, their fake marriage and honeymoon; their fake life of indulgence. It had been unexpected, the normalcy of their lives, and Will was gratified he wouldn’t be the only one to grieve for the loss. He clutched at Hannibal’s shoulder; his waist, looking for purchase—looking for an anchor. His head was forced back and Hannibal utterly possessed his mouth, giving him no time to breathe; to think; to act, only _feel_. 

He didn’t follow when Hannibal broke the kiss, but stood silently with his head bowed as the clippers hummed along his scalp, watching as his curls drifted to the ground and were scattered by the wind. When the buzzing silenced, he started at the press of lips to the top of his head, shocked that he could feel Hannibal’s lips against his exposed scalp. He raised his hand to touch, but Hannibal caught it and the corner of his mouth twitched with hesitancy: Hannibal didn’t want him to know what it looked like yet; wanted to get used to it first. 

Will’s smile was tentative, but he removed his hand from Hannibal’s and ran it over his head, the prickly inch of hair left not offering any resistance like his curly mop used to. He ignored his hand’s slight trembling as he dug into the bag to retrieve the electric razor. 

“Your turn,” he murmured, running his fingertips over Hannibal’s rough cheeks. He’d gotten used to the unkempt look of Hannibal’s scruff, usually set off by sunglasses perched atop his head. The unwelcome pang of regret at losing that part of Hannibal unsettled him and he busied himself with making sure the razor was on the proper setting to keep Hannibal from noticing.

Hannibal closed the trunk and then leaned against it, hands splayed out in back of him and legs spread to give Will room to work. Confidently, Will stepped between Hannibal’s knees and used the barest of touches to angle Hannibal’s head, moving the razor carefully over the planes of Hannibal’s face and neck. His fingertips trailed after the razor, checking that every last stray hair had been removed, leaving nothing but smoothness. Turning off the razor, Will leaned in and brushed his lips over Hannibal’s jaw, cooling the warm skin. 

They shared one last, lingering kiss and Ted and Javier, then Will stepped away from Hannibal, giving him room to straighten. He dug his glasses out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on, lowering his head to look up at Hannibal through the lenses. 

He watched quietly as Hannibal changed out of his ruined pants and into the business attire he’d selected back at their house. Hannibal’s chosen glasses were thinly wired, though even that slight difference completely changed Hannibal’s presence. They would be unrecognizable as Javier and Ted Guerrero. 

Will placed the razor in the bag and tossed the bag into the back seat, deliberately settling himself into the passenger seat. He needed to rest, to think and to properly mourn that they could probably never return to this area of Mexico again, despite it being one of their favorites. Not for fear of the cartels, but of the victims that they’d helped reunite with their families. Gratitude had a way of transcending the passage of time and their life was already precarious enough without the added attention. 

Hannibal made no objections as he angled the car back onto the main road to Mexico City, toward their newly rented house for the next week. After Hannibal shifted the car into third, his hand closed around Will’s, squeezing gently. “When we get to the house, will you show me the movie?” 

The non-sequitur completely baffled Will. “Movie? What movie—” and then he began to chuckle. When they were coming up with their cover names, Will had tossed out a character from one of his favorite movies. Though Hannibal had refused to take the name of his partner, Will had embraced Ted “Theodore” Logan proudly. “I will gladly find you _Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure_ ,” he promised solemnly, knowing that Hannibal would detest every line of it, but Will would make him watch until the last credit rolled. It was only fair, after the subtle mocking he’d gotten at selecting a movie character name as his cover. 

He squeezed Hannibal’s hand back, then released it, rubbing his thumb over the wedding ring he’d neglected to take off. A quick glance showed the matching gleam still on Hannibal’s left hand and he slumped further in the seat, choosing not to read anything into it. 

He idly watched the passing terrain and let his mind clear, barely sparing a thought to the bodies they’d left behind. That justice had been served sat well with him and the small pocket of guilt that had been a constant companion since their fall into the Atlantic remained quiet, satisfied with the outcome as well. 

As they passed by Los Reyes, his thoughts turned to their new identities and a wry smile curved his lips. As Frank Labarre, Will intended to get into a heated business discussion with Hannibal’s Hagan Petronis over a late dinner, and he predicted several mutually satisfying conclusions to their negotiations before the sun rose over Mexico City. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Hannibal’s lips twitched in a half-smile as they sped up the highway. 

The end

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to Alix Sinclair, the other half of my brain, she who encourages my descent into darkness, my sounding board and over-excitable beta reader. I'm onto you: I know it's your excuse to read my stuff before anyone else gets the chance. ~~Hannibal~~ the check is in the mail. :D


End file.
